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“To start with, son, you’re not even in the main story.  By definition you’re on the periphery.  Barely a stand-in.  You get scooped up in that old style carnival glass thing, when the shovel picks up something no one really wants.

A footnote. My kid is a cotton pickin’ footnote!

1/ Ibid.

And, worse yet, all of an Ibid.  You’re the worst kind of insignificant footnote.  This is what you grew up to be?

All that schooling?  All that grammar?  The money your mother and I spent on you to become… a footnote?  Failure has gotta be your middle name!

Is there any chance you can be edited out of that book all together?  No one will notice, and maybe you’ll get a really good job down the road, what do you think?”

“Dad, enough!  Give me a break in life.  I’m young!  It’s me, I’m the footnote you’re talking about, true.  But I am your off-spring!  There’s time for me dad!  Lots of time.

Fact is the book I’m in is being considered for a Pulitzer prize. I am just getting started in my career. You know your brother’s kid quite well?  He’s all of a semi colon. You know that!  I mean, try being punctuation.  Ewwuuuu!

I at least mean something.  I am not some weird symbol — a semi colon. Ha!  Not even a full-on colon! Then there’s comma, the pause that refreshes… Right, a comma.  Bigggggg deal.  At least a period ends things.  There is some finality.  A comma is like a half built bridge, are you kidding me?!  Who would want to ever be a comma?

So, for now I’m a footnote. Non descript,  but I will get on the page, believe me, and before you know it,  could well become a chapter.  Maybe graduate to verse!  Look out short story… Here comes a novel, baby!

Just remember — from the footnote grows the book of life!   Didn’t you tell me that?”

“Ok son. Ok…  I just don’t ever want you to be a preface. You know that’s as far as I got.  Please, son… please… do better than me!”